Circa 1860
by CrystallicSky
Summary: Dear Spicer, This war is truly a gruesome one already, and I fear it shall only grow worse before it grows better. CIVIL WAR CHACK, ONESHOT


**Circa 1860**

**By: CrystallicSky**

**  
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters. I also don't own the Civil War, but I'd like to see you try sue me for that one. .**

**Warnings: Extremely _slight_ mention of gore; otherwise tame because this was originally for school.**

**--  
**

Dear Spicer,

I know how you worry, so I am sending word again to assure you that I am alive and well; for the moment, at least.

Up to this point, I doubt that I or any of my fellow soldiers were quite expecting the way this war would turn out, but there is no changing what has happened and we are all here for the long-run. I have already witnessed much bloodshed at the hands of the rebels at Bull Run, but I already fear that there shall be much more of the like.

Worry not, lover, for I am a soldier at heart: I swear I shall not be felled.

The reins of command have recently changed here. McDowell has been replaced by McClellan at President Lincoln's appointment, but it is much too early to tell if such was a wise decision or a foolish one.

I care not for the opinions of others. I heartily approve of Lincoln's presidency. If anyone can put the shattered and disarrayed pieces of the Union back together, it is my opinion that he is the man to do it, and I can do little more than to trust his judgment in generals.

I am hearing good things of McClellan from my comrades already, but I am…dubious. He has supposedly had a good deal of experience leading troops and I have seen rapid improvement in both the skill and morale of the other soldiers; even _I_ find my mood improved with him heading the ranks.

However, I cannot help but feel wary of my current general: something tells me he is not the correct choice to _be_ general, if a close match to whomever _should_. You know personally that my premonitions have a tendency to come true, but if just in this one instance, I pray they do not.

My lover, we have only been separated for a matter of months and already, I feel as if it has been years. We have been so close since our marriage, and it simply doesn't feel right leaving you with only Wuya to care for you when that is a job that has been mine for at least a decade.

I often find myself wondering how you are faring, if Wuya is filling my position well, and of course, how you are coping with my absence. If it is this difficult from my end, a man and a soldier, I cannot imagine how you, a mere boy with a soft-heart is handling it.

I have had the thought many a time that were you not so ill, you would be right here on the battlements with me.

It is extremely lucky that is not so. You were always clumsy and unfocused when I knew you as a child, before you became ill, and were you here, I've no doubt you would have been shot or run through on the very first day of battle. If not that, then you would have at least surrendered a limb, or more accurately _several_, a fate I have already seen many around me succumb to.

This war is truly a gruesome one already, and I fear it shall only grow worse before it grows better.

-Chase

--

Dear Spicer,

I have not written to you in a good deal of time, and for that I apologize. War has kept me quite busy.

McClellan has managed to earn my distaste with what he called the Peninsula Campaign. It started out rather smoothly, and the troops and I were led to attack Richmond from the rear.

We were on the brink of victory when he made a fool error: he held us off from striking the final blow. Amazingly idiotic to me, as we were quite literally within hearing distance of the city's church bells and yet forbidden to do anything about it.

I have heard talk that he was waiting for reinforcements before he wished to march us through the town, which _may_ have been an acceptable strategy, but only for an extremely _brief_ period. Instead, in the time McClellan took for hesitation, the Confederacy and General Lee took the offensive and drove us back. Yet more of my comrades were senselessly killed.

Lee proved to be a more level-headed commander than McClellan, as he continued the rebellion against our forces despite the fact that Confederate casualties doubled our own, and our general outright panicked and went crying to President Lincoln.

Lincoln did not see the Peninsula Campaign fit for the war in the first place; smart man. He called McClellan, along with us, back to Washington. I was almost hopeful that I would get to see you again, my lover, but it was too good to be true.

Lee chased us, and we have already fought a second time at Bull Run. While I do enjoy the thrill of battle and am confident that I shall not be killed, I am not eager to lose an arm in the constant fighting, and the closer together these battles are, the chances of such increase.

I sincerely do not wish to return to you substantially damaged; unable to hold you in my arms again because I do not have any with which to hold you.

There is a pause in the conflict at the moment, and so I am writing to you, again to ease your incessant tendency for worry. I have not heard any more from you since your last letter, but as I have not received any news from Wuya stating otherwise, I can only assume that you are still amongst the living and simply waiting for my letter, a fact for which I am very glad. I can only hope that, at least, your sickly condition has not worsened.

You can write that you are feeling fine from now until the end of time and I will still not be able to trust your word because you are a hypocrite when it comes to anxiety: you can worry yourself to death over others, but you will become a notorious liar where you yourself are concerned to keep others from fretting.

I can fret over you if I like, lover, and I shall.

I hope to hear from you soon. I am surrounded by other men, very few of which I am actually fond of and yet I cannot form a concrete relationship anything like a companionship for fear that they will soon meet their end on the battlefield. I despise this war with all of my being, and I can only hope some sort of end is in sight.

-Chase

--

Dear Spicer,

I get the feeling that the Union has a rather large victory in store quite soon, largely due to the fact that I have recently come into something quite useful to our cause, lying in the middle of the road what's more!

I quite literally stumbled across something wrapped in paper this morning. It was inconsequential: merely a few cigars which I handed off to my fellow soldiers, as I am not a smoker. The importance of this was the actual paper in which the cigars were wrapped.

Apparently, both the paper and the cigars had belonged to a rebel soldier and had been dropped, an extremely careless thing of whoever he was to do considering that the cigars were wrapped in a detailed account of the opposing General Lee's forces and their locations. I have no doubt in my mind the severity of the tongue-lashing given to the fool who was sloppy enough to lose such a thing.

I am sure that McClellan was quite near to licking my boots after I handed it over to him, something I believe I shall be bragging about for the rest of my life: the commander of the Washington theater reduced to kissing my feet!

He is planning his attack as I write these words, and I am hopeful that perhaps I was wrong to judge him so quickly: perhaps he shall be the one to lead the Union to victory after all.

At the moment, I still find your absence from me quite punctuated, lover. It was storming last night and a particularly loud crack of thunder awoke me from a sound sleep.

I half-expected you to be lying there next to me, seeking comfort as you have always done, and I simply lay awake for what felt like hours, wondering if you were shivering in your own bed, alone and frightened.

At that very moment, I felt a massive failure as a husband as I never have before: I should be home looking after you, not here biding my time in between bloody battles.

Were there only enough money to spare, I might have avoided the draft, but as it is, our funds stretched tight already, I am stuck here a soldier, and you are stuck there a civilian.

I suppose it is for the best in the end, but I see no harm in despising it anyways.

I am confident about the upcoming battle that is to be waged. Going by the account of the rebel forces, which I thoroughly memorized before bringing it to McClellan, of course, our forces no less than _double_ theirs, and I simply cannot see how we could lose.

I hope you shall think of me often in the next few days: your husband shall be a veritable _demon_ on the battlefield for you, and since you _cannot_ nor would I _allow_ you to be near enough to see it, I would have you at least imagine the glory I shall bring to our name for your sake.

-Chase

--

Dear Spicer,

I am beyond irate and have been for quite sometime; even the din of battle has not soothed my rage. I have wished for your presence many a time, my love, as you have always had a way of calming me from my deepest furies.

McClellan somehow managed to foul up what should have been a flawless and perfect victory, perhaps the only man on Earth who could have done so. Because he had to be a perfectionist and held us back for far too long, Lee had enough time to amass his forces and meet us near Dunker church at Antietam.

It was a complete massacre and perhaps the bloodiest day of this entire war I have yet seen. It quite simply should not have been so, as our forces were somewhere around 30,000 men stronger than theirs, and yet the rebels managed to hold us off. More of my fellow soldiers were killed in that one day alone than in all other battles in which I have fought, something of a statement as to how truly awful a fight it was.

In fact, I was, for the first time in the war, assailed with a gunshot wound! It wasn't fatal, obviously, as I am still alive and writing to you, but by the time the fight had ended, I was beginning to feel light-headed. Luckily, a few other survivors were kind enough to help me to get medical attention, and I feel just fine at the moment. My side will bear a scar when you next see me, but unlike the man it struck after grazing me, I shall be alive, and that is what most matters.

Over half of our men were lost in the battle, but it is fortunate that the rebels lost just as many; a worse result for them as they had fewer soldiers to begin with. In any case, McClellan has been relieved of duty for his failure to execute what could have been a far more devastating blow to the Confederates and doing it in a way that rather humiliated the Union (we had _twice_ their numbers and it came to a _draw_!).

Good riddance, I say; not that I have much hope for the new general, Burnside. He said himself that he feels unfit for the position: whether you think you can or cannot, you are correct. He does not think he can handle this responsibility? He more than likely _can't_.

Lincoln has also taken the opportunity to issue the Emancipation Proclamation, I'm sure you have heard or at least read in the newspaper. I think it another smart move of him. With the Southern slaves considered free in the Union, they will likely flock here in numbers and provide great aid to our cause by leaving rebel workforces largely unattended while simultaneously providing us with a greater army.

Though writing this has marginally calmed my temper, I still wish to be in your presence as I feel it would remind me why I am fighting in this useless conflict in the first place. Then again, were I to truly see you, I doubt I could make myself leave once more, especially not with the begging I would hear from you to stay.

I never _could_ resist you when you begged; you're quite good at it, you little rascal, and I'm sure you know it. Nonetheless, I miss you (and even _Wuya_ at this point) and hope to see you again someday soon.

-Chase

--

Dear Spicer,

For once, I am in a good mood.

I shall tell only you of my plans before I put them into action, lover, for I trust implicitly that you will not tell a soul until it is done.

I intend to go AWOL. I have been in this war for at least two and a half years, now, and I can take it no longer: the string of fool generals (McDowell to McClellan to Burnside to Hooker), the consistent casualties, and the lack of reward of any kind for my faithful and skilled service other than a metaphorical pat on the back.

I admit to having a quick temper at times, but I'm sure you will agree that $11 a month is no real compensation for what I have gone through in my service.

Regardless, from these wages and from a bit of pilfering from the rebels on the side, I have managed to collect a good sum of money; nearly $900. I intend to escape the barracks and return home to you and Wuya. Now that I can pay the fee of commutation, with extra to spare, I can easily buy my way out of service while simultaneously bribing the correct people to make it as if I had never deserted and was instead honorably discharged.

I find it pathetic how easily people can be convinced to look the other way when presented with money, but if it can get me away from all of this, then I dare not question it.

Dear God, I've not seen you in years, my love! I find that a marvel since we should never have been so separated as husband and wife. You tell me that your health has improved a bit and while I cannot trust you completely in that, I can hope that you spoke the truth.

If you had and what you said is true then I recall you have hardly been outdoors throughout your life and I would very much like to be the one to escort you somewhere. Perhaps no one place in particular, but I believe a bit of sight-seeing might be in order as you've never before laid eyes upon the very city in which you live but from windows and photographs. That simply shall not do.

Once I return home, Wuya need not stay and look after you in my stead any longer, either, and she can move back in with Hannibal. I assume that will make you happy as you never seemed overly fond of her.

Just thinking of being home once more stirs a desire within me to make a mad dash for freedom now, in broad daylight where I would more than likely be shot and killed or worse, stopped and forced to remain.

But I shall be patient.

I shall wait until nightfall, when all are asleep, to make my escape. I find myself uncaring as to whether or not I shall have to run nonstop, without food or rest going on weeks: I am going home, away from this bloody battlefield, and I shall finally see you, my dear lover, once again.

-Chase

--

Red eyes scanned the worn-before-its-time piece of paper for what had to be the millionth go in the past week. Jack felt desperate reading the letter so often, but he _was_ desperate, so he saw no harm in it.

He wanted his husband back.

The young man sighed and folded Chase's letter back up and carefully placed it in his breast pocket, standing from the armchair before the fireplace and walking from the study, intent on getting a cup of tea to calm himself and ease his nerves.

Naturally, he was not expecting to walk through the foyer and be stopped before he could completely exit with the inquiry of, "Now is that any way to greet your homecoming husband after nearly three _years_, Spicer?"

Jack froze immediately, breath catching in his throat as he whirled about to see the front door open, none other than his Chase leaning against the jamb.

The man looked utterly exhausted, his normally sun-kissed skin pallid and emphasizing the shadows that had taken residence beneath his eyes. His frame, while still broad and well-muscled as always, seemed thinner: a result, no doubt, of the lack of sufficient rations available for the combat force followed by the lack of food _period_ over the soldier's journey home.

Still, he wore that trademark, crooked grin he'd always had, a teasing smirk in his bright, golden eyes, and just a sense about him that _screamed_ his relief at being home once more.

Without thinking, Jack gave a squealing cry halfway between joy of having Chase home and sorrow that this _must_ be too good to be true before tackling his husband in a tight embrace.

The man chuckled at him but nonetheless brought his arms up to the youth's back in returning the embrace, burying his nose in pale hair simply because he _could_. "I have come home to you, my love," he stated firmly.

"You did," Jack simpered pathetically, close to tears as he pressed his cheek to his husband's chest and inhaled the soldier's familiar and long-missing scent, "you _did_…"

There was no mistaking that Chase was home now, because for the first time in years, Jack finally felt _whole_ again.

--

**A/N: So, I recently had to do this project for my history class about the American Civil War, and one of the options was to write 5, 1-page letters from a soldier in the war to someone back home.**

**I warped it into Chack, as I do with everything. XD**

**Since it was originally for school, though, I had to censor the slash and made as if Chase and Jack were brothers. D:**

**In any case, this is the real version, so I hope you guys liked it! :D**


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